D is for Drugged
by whumpertrooper
Summary: Charlie's beginnings in Ballarat are anything but easy. He learns pretty quickly who he can trust and who he should not. Written as part of the A to Z Charlie Whump challenge.


_**A/N: **This one is a little bit strange and a little bit longer than I anticipated :D Set only few eps into season 2 when Charlie is still just trying to find his feet in Ballarat. I did a research on the drug and its effects but it seem different people experience different things :D So take this with a grain of salt please. Enjoy._

* * *

**D is for Drugged**

Charlie had been in Ballarat only for few weeks. He could feel that everyone was wary of him and he knew there was a reason. He did indeed come with a secret mission of reporting back to Melbourne about anything suspicious on one Lucien Blake.

Charlie got himself stuck in this situation rather involuntarily. He had a good track record in Melbourne and most importantly, everyone there knew he was 'by the book'. It helped that his father had been a well liked cop, despite having his own faults. For the higher ups in Melbourne Charlie looked like the perfect candidate to keep an eye on the happenings in Ballarat.

Charlie wasn't stupid and he knew Matthew Lawson knew this. He knew the Boss had his suspicions and was keeping an eye on him. Knew that sergeant Bill Hobart who was practically second in command was one unpredictable copper and might be swayed either way, but mostly he was working for his own good. What was most important though, the reason why he was truly here was the good old meddling doctor, Lucien Blake.

Charlie accepted that and ever since his first meeting with Blake he had to admit the Doc seemed to be someone who could step on someone's toes without even noticing. Well... to be fair, the man didn't yet do anything worth reporting and Charlie was still trying to make his opinion about him. Lucien Blake was a bit of a mystery. He had a strange past, well guarded that not even Charlie was privy to. His superiors didn't tell him anything specific about Blake, just that he should be keeping an eye out on him. So Charlie did. But the more he knew the man, the harder time he had to justify the need to report anything. Charlie couldn't imagine Blake was still some kind of a spy. He was an eager, rule breaking genius who loved mysteries. And he was getting under Charlie's skin like no one else.

Charlie had expected the pushback from there. His superior, the Doctor himself. What he didn't expect was the coldness the other regular cops welcomed him with. Maybe it was just the fact he made rank a bit faster than most of them. Maybe it was the fact they were all small town cops and didn't care for out of town folks. Charlie didn't know and didn't really care. While he missed some friends from Melbourne, he was never one to go out of his way to socialize. After all, if he wanted to talk, he had his family. And then he had to provide for said family, so his focus was on work, not parties and going out for beer.

So in a way, Charlie came to accept the fact that here in Ballarat the other cops barely looked at him and that the best conversations he had were with Lucien Blake and Matthew Lawson. So far he managed to convince himself that he didn't mind that at all.

That was until one Friday afternoon one of the junior constables approached him and asked him out for a beer.

Charlie looked up, surprised.

"Me?" he asked somehow dumbfounded and made a point of looking around. The guy... his name was Dave, Charlie knew that much, laughed.

"You see anyone else here?"

Charlie didn't comment, just waited.

Dave seemed to be a bit taken aback by that, but he quickly recovered.

"So... me and some of the guys are planning a night out and we were thinking you might want to join."

Charlie looked around and noted two other constables watching them curiously.

"Uh... I would love to, but... I'm on the weekend shift," he said, suddenly glad he had a reason to decline. Dave rolled his eyes.

"You can handle a couple of beers, can't you?"

Charlie could, but he still felt weirded out by the sudden interest.

"No offense, but why now? You haven't talked to me since I arrived."

Dave shrugged.

"We don't get that many new guys around here. Guess we just wanted to sniff you out. Make sure you're worth our time," Dave said and there was a glint in his eyes that made Charlie a bit nervous.

"Okay, okay. You got me," Dave said suddenly, raising his arms. "Friday night we usually get together and play a bit of poker. Let out some steam. But our fourth player has other duties to attend to. So we thought you can jump in."

Charlie hesitated. He wanted to say no, to just go home and get some sleep after the week he had with the whole dead rock star case and managing to lock up Blake's boarder Mattie as well as piss off Lawson about opening his damn mouth to no one but the damn killer himself. Maybe getting on a good foot with his fellow colleagues would give him a ledge. Or at least make him more accepted by everyone. Still... poker wasn't his strongest suit.

"Sorry, but I don't play for money," he said and it was true. He had to send every penny he could home to his mother and brothers. No way was he risking his wage on a card game.

Dave seemed to take it in stride however.

"That's cool. Wouldn't want to steal your money on the first night anyway," Dave said with a chuckle. "Come on. Couple beers and a game. And you can tell us all about how's the job in the big city. Don't tell me you have better plans."

Charlie didn't. Even though there was a nagging feeling that he should maybe skip this invitation, he also knew that if he blew Dave off, well... there might not be another chance at bonding with the guys. And seeing as Charlie didn't know how long he would be stuck in Ballarat, making a few friends looked like a smart thing to do.

"Okay, where are we meeting?"

"That's my man," Dave said cheerily, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. "We usually go straight from work, so just wait in front of the station."

"Sounds good," Charlie nodded. If they started early, he could excuse himself at a rather normal time and get some rest before tomorrow's shift. Now he just needed to finish the paperwork on their last case and hope they didn't get a call about any murder scene. For such a small town, Ballarat had a rather high crime rate.

* * *

When the shift was finally over and Charlie met up with Dave and his two other pals - George and Steven - in front of the police station, Charlie thought they would be heading into the nearest pub. Instead Dave led them towards his car and drove them all a little bit outside of Ballarat to a small, unassuming house.

It turned out that the Friday poker games were usually held at Dave's house. Dave was only a year or two older than Charlie and he was married, at least that's what Charlie figured from several pictures he saw in the house.

"Eve is at her mother's place... helping out with her sick father," Dave said when he noted Charlie's questioning look. He didn't elaborate and Charlie didn't ask whether the arrangement was temporary or long term. It wasn't his place to ask.

Dave led them all into the kitchen and one look at the sink made it clear that Eve hadn't been home for quite some time. George and Steven seemingly ignored the mess so Charlie assumed it was normal and didn't comment either.

Sitting down at the table, George pulled out a stack of cards.

"Okay guys, I have a new batch of Little Billy's homebrew beer. Anyone wanna try out?"

There was a dual 'Hell yeah' while Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't drank beer till you tasted Little Billy's brew," Dave explained. "If you have the guts for it, that is," Dave added with a smirk and Charlie gritted his teeth. He had a feeling he would have to listen to more than just a few jabs before the guys accepted him as a colleague instead of an outsider from the big city. He wasn't sure how long it would take or even if he really wanted to be accepted at this point.

"I'm sure I've tasted worse," Charlie said, trying to look more at ease than he really felt. Dave chuckled and nodded at Steven.

"Come on Stevie, I'll need a hand."

Steven nodded and they left the kitchen together. Charlie was left with George who he knew nothing about. Except the fact the guy barely spoke apparently. After an awkward few minutes of just waiting around in silence, because every question Charlie made George answered with a simple grunt, Steven and Dave returned, each holding two ice cold pints of beer. Dave put one in front of Charlie and as George finally started putting out the cards, Charlie took a sip of the beer.

It tasted funny. Much sharper than he anticipated and the taste... well, it wasn't exactly to Charlie's liking. But then he was more of a tea guy himself. Still, he couldn't help the grimace appearing on his face at the bitter aftertaste and the guys must've been expecting it, because they all burst out laughing.

"Is it too strong for our Big City boy?"

Charlie gave Dave a stink eye and took another swig of the beer, then put down the glass.

"No. It just tastes like shit," he said calmly.

Dave snorted and took a swig of his own beer, Steven doing the same. George just rolled his eyes and looked at his cards.

"Well, if you can handle this, there might be hope for you yet," Dave said, settling down and starting the game.

It wasn't such a bad evening, Charlie thought as he managed to win two hands from four. True, the beer wasn't anything to write home about, but he could already feel some kind of buzz. It must've been hella strong. And the conversation wasn't that bad either. Dave was a good host and kept the talk going. At first he showered Charlie with a bunch of questions, a few of which Charlie just blew off entirely, some he even answered in truth. After a while the direction turned towards Ballarat and some of their craziest cases.

Charlie had managed to drink the first glass of beer and it had to be working, because the second one Dave brought up tasted much better. They were playing for almost an hour now when Charlie noted the guys giving him curious glances. Charlie had a distinct feeling they were waiting for something to happen and a crazy thought popped into his head. Did they put something into his beer? Maybe something that would make him feel sick or run to the bathroom? Charlie looked at his glass, but it was still half full of his second beer and he couldn't see anything weird in it. Not to mention, he didn't feel sick or anything. Actually, he felt quite nice. Almost mellow. All the stress seemed to leave his body and for the first time in weeks he felt relaxed. He needed this... going out with a bunch of guys, having a beer and a chat...

"Charlie? Are you playing?" Dave asked and when Charlie looked up at him, he saw a pair of piercing eyes focusing on him with such intensity it almost scared him. Charlie blinked, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. Dave's eyes seemed deep and sharp... almost as if they were trying to reach out to Charlie, reach deep into his soul.

"Uh... I think... I think I should go," Charlie said and put down the cards. He stood up and swayed. No... it wasn't him. It was the room that moved around him, up and down. Charlie felt a hand on his arm, but he barely felt any pressure. His body felt strange and he swallowed. Something was wrong.

"Did you... put something in the beer?" he asked in disbelief and three men exchanged worried looks.

"What? No, of course not," Dave said quickly and Charlie tried to push himself away from the table, away from the people who suddenly didn't look so friendly.

"Come on. You're such a lightweight, Davis," Steven laughed and shook his head. George didn't say a thing, he just kept watching emotionlessly. Charlie took in a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I feel weird," he said out loud, but it sounded tinny to his own ears.

"That's what this stuff does to you. Maybe we should've given you water instead," Dave joked, but Charlie didn't find any humour in it. He had to work in the morning, he knew that much. He had to be there, he had to be reliable. He needed Lawson to trust him.

"Home..." Charlie muttered and headed towards the door, one arm stretched out. He made it barely two steps, eyes wide. His arm seemed so out of proportion. The kitchen kept moving and Charlie thought he should be sick, but his body seemed to accept the new rules of gravity as fact.

Dave was there next to him however, one stable point in the constantly moving surroundings and Charlie practically latched onto the man's shoulder.

"Something's wrong," Charlie muttered and repeated it for good measure, because the sound of his own voice seemed strange to him.

"Okay, okay. I'll drive you. Come on, guys, let's give Charlie a ride home."

Charlie wasn't sure how or even when they all made it to the car. He was aware of sitting down and looking out of the window. He heard the car start, but it didn't move an inch. No... it was everything else that was moving. Fast and faster and Charlie could only push his face against the window, watching as the road rolled under the car, as the trees were seemingly running past them, whole houses rushing by. He kept asking the others if they were seeing that, and there was muttering and laughter. Charlie tuned it out. He tuned out everything but the moving world and the rumble of the car.

Charlie didn't know when the rumble stopped. He didn't know how long the ride lasted, what was its purpose or where they were even going. The car became this abstract thing stuck in space and time while everything else passed by. One moment Charlie's face was pressed against the window, the next he was standing in front of a door. Someone was chuckling next to him, someone was knocking on wood. There were footsteps and it sounded like a whole horde of elephants were rushing at Charlie, ready to trample him down.

Charlie closed his eyes, sure he would soon feel the heavy feet crushing his bones into dust. He didn't want to see the blow coming. But as quickly as the sound came it also vanished, leaving behind only drunken laughter. Charlie opened his eyes and saw he was still standing in front of a door. It was an unfamiliar door, with a nice brass knob and a glass pane. Charlie reached out, his mile long arms touching the knob reverently. Where did the door lead?

It was as if his mind itself reached out and turned that knob. The door suddenly moved, far far away. Charlie followed the movement, mesmerized, until he saw a figure emerge from behind. It was a familiar figure, but strange anyway. It seemed to be looming over Charlie threateningly and Charlie took a startled step back. Somewhere deep inside his logical mind he realized that this was a bad place to be, that this was where trouble came from.

"What on earth are you doing here, Davis?" the figure asked, the voice booming in the silence of the night and Charlie broke out in cold sweat. No... this wasn't the right place to be.

"Well?" the figure asked and Charlie could swear he saw the word rush out of the man's mouth with the force of a hurricane. Charlie swayed then chuckled. He didn't know what was so funny, maybe the fact that nothing made sense and was his superior officer wearing a dark red robe and slippers?

"S'not my home," Charlie said, then reached out to touch the robe. It looked comfortable, almost like a fluffy cloud.

"Are you drunk?" the man asked, disbelief colouring his voice, mixing with outrage. Charlie shrugged. Was he drunk? He didn't know. Was it important? He doubted that. It felt like nothing was important anymore. Nothing was real after all. In what reality would be Charlie clutching at Matthew Lawson's fluffy red robe and not be killed right on the spot?

* * *

Finally it was Friday and Matthew Lawson looked forward to a quiet night followed by a day of relaxation. He was making plans in his head for Saturday, plans which might've included a short fishing trip and a visit to an old friend in the neighbouring town. What his plans didn't include was a knock at his door right after he settled down on his couch with a good book and a glass of whiskey. And it definitely didn't include a spaced out visitor that was turning out to be a big thorn in his side named Charlie Davis.

Lawson might've tolerated seeing the senior constable if it was a work related issue. Hell, he might've even let it slide if the kid had simply got lost in the neighbourhood or came to his house wanting to talk. Maybe apologize for the whole issue with telling the murderer just what he needed to know to lead them off the track. Yes, Matthew was still pissed about that one. But he wasn't expecting Davis to appear on his front porch on a Friday night, still in his uniform, albeit looking a bit rumpled and swaying like the slightest breeze could push him over. He didn't expect to smell beer from him either, but he did. Still, Lawson's disbelief about the possible stupidity of his subordinate was so strong he felt the need to ask.

"Are you _drunk_?" Okay, it might've been more of a bellow than a question, but who could blame him?

Davis blinked, opened his mouth then shut it. Lawson felt anger well up inside him. He wanted to tear the kid a new one. How dare he come here, disturb him and what was worse get drunk still in uniform?

Lawson gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout, wanted to kick the kid out of the force. Get rid of the trouble he presented, save himself and Blake from another spy sent in by the higher ups. This was a good opportunity, yet Lawson didn't think this was the best time. He needed to calm down and think this through. Maybe, just maybe, keeping Davis on the force was a better choice. Using this as a threat hanging over the kid's head...

"Go home. Sober up. And I swear to God, Davis, if you go to work drunk tomorrow, I'll kick your ass all the way up to New Zealand. Am I understood?" Lawson roared, expecting Charlie to look at least a bit concerned or take a step back. But there was no reaction. Charlie was looking at his mouth as if still trying to decipher the meaning of his words.

Lawson didn't have the patience for this. He would have to deal with Davis come Monday. Till then, the kid could get back the way he came.

He was just about to close the door on Charlie's face, when the barely audible words stopped him.

"Where am I?"

Lawson paused, the nagging thought in the back of his mind popping to the front.

"How the hell did you even get here?" It was a good question. Davis shouldn't have known his address. There was no sight of a car nearby, the nearest pub was over a fifteen minute walk and the police station was on the other side of the town.

Charlie shrugged.

"Car. Boss... why... why are my arms so long?" Charlie looked at his hands in amazement, then raised his head, as if listening to something no one else could hear. He cringed suddenly, his breathing speeding up and before Lawson could react, Charlie spun around and pushed his back against the wall.

"What was that?" he looked around wildly and Lawson realized something was wrong. This wasn't just Charlie being drunk. Lawson had seen his fair share of drunks, but none of them were reacting this strangely. Not to mention Charlie's answer. 'Car'. There was no car to be seen. And who the hell would just drive his constable here? Who knew Lawson's home address?

"Bloody hell," Lawson uttered, knowing he would have to deal with this and that he could bid his relaxing night goodbye.

"Did you take something, Davis?" he asked and stepped onto his porch right in front of Charlie. Without waiting for an answer that wouldn't come anyway, Lawson grabbed Charlie's face, turning it so he could peer into his eyes. The dilated pupils were answer enough.

Lawson noted a movement in the window from the neighbourhood house and knew it was only a matter of minute before old Miss Jones stepped out and started asking questions. Having to deal with a drugged Davis and his old noisy neighbour at the same time was not his idea of a fun Friday night. So he took hold of Charlie's arm and without any comment he dragged the constable inside his house, slamming the door closed. The moment the sound of the closing door resonated through the house, Charlie pulled out of Lawson's grasp and all hell broke loose.

* * *

The man bore his fingers deep into Charlie's arm and dragged him away from the safety of the wall. Charlie thought it should've hurt... the fingers looked like claws and he could swear they vanished deep under his skin. But there was no pain, only slight pressure and that's when Charlie realized the man wasn't Matthew Lawson.

Charlie watched as his own feet... so long and so clumsy... stumbled upon a carpet. The world tilted and Charlie's arms shot up, like tentacles... reaching out into the endless hallway until they encountered a wall. The world tilted back upright as it should be but Charlie felt his heart speed up anyway.

Something moved close by. The man that bore Lawson's face. The face that wasn't real. Charlie's eyes widened as he locked sight on the familiar yet strange contours. The hair looked slick and pulled back, the skin on the forehead too smooth to be true. There were no wrinkles, no blemishes. Even the typical frown was missing from the man's face, replaced by a mask of indifference. Charlie squinted, trying to focus on the blurring image. Then he wished he hadn't.

It started with the skin on Lawson's nose. Just a small black dot, maybe a smooch of sooth. But it grew and it changed structure and soon Lawson's nose was gone, melting away as if he was nothing more than a wax figurine.

The mouth, or what it was turning into - a dark weeping hole in the skin - was moving, emitting sound. Charlie knew it was saying words but they were garbled. There was no sense to them, the voice reaching a high pitch. Charlie couldn't take it any longer. He had to leave. He couldn't stay in this strange world with a disintegrating impostor of his former boss. He was overwhelmed by the urge to leave, his body feeling as if it was pumped full of energy. So much energy he didn't know what to rightly do with it.

The impostor in front of him moved, reaching out with his own arms which weren't melting yet, but they did turn into claws. Charlie took a step back, then a few more. Maybe he could just run down the never-ending hallway, into the darkness... become one with it until everything made sense again.

Charlie started running.

There was a loud yell, reverberating through the hallway, shaking the foundations of the house itself. Charlie could feel the voice resonating deep inside his skull and the floor moved out of his way. It felt like gravity wanted to take him as victim, but Charlie's arms... the freakishly long arms once again reached out and caught hold of something.

Charlie's body came to a halt, sending another object moving. Action equalled reaction. A white vase with intricate flowery blue pattern was flying through the air in absurdly slow motion. Charlie was sure that if he wanted to stop its descent all he needed to do was catch it. He could maybe run circles around it with the way time seemingly stopped.

But Charlie didn't want to stop it. He watched in morbid fascination as the vase touched the hard stone floor, shattering into what seemed like million pieces. Charlie's eyes followed several pieces, entranced. Maybe that was how the universe was created, he thought. Something knocked over a vase and it shattered into myriad of little pieces, planets and stars and people. Charlie wanted to count each piece, he wanted to count the stars on the sky.

Falling to his knees in the middle of the shards, Charlie touched a few of the bigger pieces almost reverently. He could still see the blue pattern. Maybe he could put it back... glue them all together. Would it work with the universe too? If all the stars and planets were pushed back into one big ball... what would it look like?

Charlie's mind was all over the place. His fingers roamed the floor, his fascination growing as the white shards started turning red. First it was just one drop of red into the sea of white and blue... but as Charlie clutched at the shards... as he clutched at pieces of the universe itself, it all started turning red. Charlie was watching as the red dripped from his own hands and he had an absurd thought that maybe this was how _life_ started? What if God cut his finger and let His blood drip onto the pieces of universe?

For that moment Charlie felt as if he had figured out the secret of everything. His heart was overcome by incredible calm and peace and as he knelt there, everything made sense. Past, present and future. All fears were gone.

Then time snapped back and there was movement. Charlie looked up dazedly and saw the impostor rushing at him.

He reacted on instinct. It wasn't that hard. His body just moved, the hand... his own hand melded with the biggest shard of the vase shot out just as the man reached him.

Charlie felt the shard skimming the surface of the clothing, but an unexpected blow moved his arm away from the enemy. Charlie wanted to shout out, but his mouth was too slow. The large mass of a man rushed into him, knocking him down on the floor. Charlie's left cheek smashed against the cold stone floor and he felt something small scratch at his scalp. He knew it hurt, but the feeling didn't reach his body. It was as if someone snapped a cable between body and brain and Charlie had become a spectator, watching everything from far away.

He watched with disinterest as the shard was knocked out of his clutch, as his arm was twisted behind his back, face pushed harder against the floor.

He felt everything but nothing really hurt. It was absolutely fantastic.

Even as he felt his body being hauled up, pulled and dragged towards a small room, it all felt like a dream. Like it wasn't real. Charlie's eyes were half closed, he couldn't really see what was happening to him, but he didn't care. For once he didn't feel the nagging fear of impending failure. There were no doubts in his brain, because time and space melted into one and if his body couldn't feel pain than what was there to be afraid of. He just wished it could stay like this forever.

* * *

Matthew Lawson had just poured himself another glass of whiskey. He stood in the middle of the hallway, eyeing the mess on the ground while at the same time keeping an eye on his visitor, when there was a knock on the door. Lawson took a sip, readying himself for what was to come.

He walked to the door, carefully stepping over what used to be his mother's favourite vase.

"About damn time," Matthew grumbled when he opened the door.

"Nice to see you too," Lucien Blake said with a raised eyebrow that kept going up as he stepped inside the house and saw the mess. "Bloody hell, what happened here?"

As if on instinct, Blake reached out to Lawson, his eyes roaming over his body, looking for injuries. Lawson waved him off, disgruntled as ever.

"It's not mine," he said, addressing the bloody puddle that had been smeared down across the hall as he dragged Charlie away. "Well, not all of it," he admitted and motioned to his side where there was a visible cut in his night robe and some red staining the beige material.

Lucien frowned, still checking the wound quickly.

"Looks superficial, definitely not enough to make this mess. So what on earth happened and do I have anyone else to patch up or was I supposed to bring a shovel?"

Lawson nodded and headed towards the bathroom. Blake followed him, one hand holding his medical bag, the other clutching and unclutching in a fist, as if in preparation to fend off a possible attacker.

The door to the bathroom was half open, but Blake couldn't see who was inside until Lawson stepped out of the way.

"Bloody hell! Charlie?" Blake dropped the bag and was about to rush in when Lawson's hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"Careful. He's not himself," he warned and watched as Lucien gave him a confused look, but proceeded to enter the small room with more caution.

"What happened?" Blake asked even as he knelt in front of Charlie. Charlie, who was currently sitting on the cold bathroom floor, his right arm handcuffed to the heating pipes, the other lying idly in his lap, blood still seeping from the cut on his palm. Charlie seemed... off. He was looking at his bleeding hand with wide eyed fascination. His mouth was moving occasionally, forming silent words but no sound was escaping.

He didn't seem to register Blake's presence until the doctor touched his face. Even then he only lifted his eyes, blinked and kept staring ahead at Blake's face. Lawson could see his eyes occasionally making a jerky movement upwards and to the side and that somehow made the whole picture all the more gruesome and scary.

"Matthew! What the hell happened?" Blake barked, repeating his question, while reaching for his bag and pulling out a packet of clean gauze, pushing it against the wound on Charlie's hand, trying to stop the bleeding. Charlie didn't even flinch.

"I don't..."_ know_, Matthew wanted to say, but he had a sick feeling he did know. "I think someone drugged him then delivered him right in front of my house. He only looked drunk when I opened the door but then he started talking crazy. I pulled him inside and he freaked. Broke the vase, cut his hand open on the shards. When I tried to stop him... he attacked me."

Blake was listening to this with a growing frown on his face. He was trying to treat the hand but Charlie's brain finally seemed to catch on that there was another person in the room. He moved his right hand, jerking as the handcuff rattled against the pipe and didn't let go. Charlie kept trying though, unaware that every attempt at moving his hand resulted in more bruising on his abused wrist. Pain didn't seem to faze him at all. But it was driving Blake crazy.

"Take this thing off, before he breaks his arm!" he barked at Lawson.

"Did you not listen to me, Blake? He tried to kill me and almost slit his own wrist with that shard. I'm not taking off the cuffs until he's knocked out or talking sense again." As if to strengthen his point, Lawson crossed his arms on his chest. Blake cursed.

Charlie didn't seem to mind any of that however. When he finally realized his right arm wasn't moving, he reached up with his left one, trying to touch Blake's face with his bloody hand. Blake just about stopped him mid motion.

"No Charlie, stay put," he said and pushed the hand down, holding onto the wrist. With his other hand he grabbed another gauze and crudely bandaged the appendage. He then proceeded to check Charlie over, counting his pulse, looking into his eyes. Checking the small cut on his left temple that was sluggishly bleeding, giving Charlie a look of some botched robbery victim. It was at this point when Charlie seemed to take offense at all the contact.

"T's not me," he said, pulling away angrily. "Not who I am," he muttered and he pulled his legs up, knees tight against his chest as he started rocking slightly.

"Charlie? Do you know who I am?" Blake asked, arm still on Charlie's shoulder, despite his attempts to brush it off.

Charlie didn't seem to hear him though. He kept muttering under his breath, rocking slightly and occasionally pulling against the handcuff, causing a rattling sound.

"Charlie?"

There was no reaction, except for a wince and an attempt to pull back. And the warning glare that made it clear that if he was touched again, someone will be losing a limb.

Blake seemed to finally accept that. He scooted back and stood up slowly, then walked out of the bathroom. He grabbed the drink from Lawson's hand and took a healthy swig before handing the glass back over. Lawson didn't even glare.

"Well? What now?" Lawson asked as they both watched Charlie Davis draw a smiling face on the tile with his own bloody fingers and then start up a conversation about stars and planets with the sink.

Blake looked slightly lost himself.

"Do you have an idea what did he take?"

"You're asking me? I thought you were the doctor!"

Blake grimaced.

"Hard to say without a blood work and even then... looks like some kind of a hallucinogen. And you think this was done on purpose?"

"I don't know. Do you think our squeaky clean senior constable who was sent over to keep tabs on you is dabbling in drugs on his own volition?" Lawson asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice thick like honey. Blake threw him one of his patented 'Don't be ridiculous' looks.

"We can focus on what and who later though. I need to know what to do now," Lawson said with a sigh. As much as he was vary of the constable, he had somehow gotten to like the kid in the last few weeks. Not to mention it was still his subordinate, his responsibility.

"Ah, you do like the boy after all," Blake commented knowingly. Lawson rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I just don't want to explain to the higher ups why their golden boy died in my bathroom."

"Let's hope it doesn't happen then," Blake said with a sigh as he watched Charlie put his palm on the smiley face and smear it into a bloody mush with a somehow panicky look.

"So... can't you knock him out?"

"If I don't know what he is on I can't risk adding more drugs into his system."

"Great. Just great. So... anything that can be done?"

"We can take him to the hospital. His pulse is faster than I would like... he needs monitoring. Maybe fluids to flush the drug out of his system."

"Not going to happen," Lawson was shaking his head even before Lucien finished speaking. "If we take him to the hospital, his career might be over. Not to mention I would have a mess on my hand and another reason to be pulled down from my position. If it's not life threatening, you'll have to handle it."

"Well, that's awfully considerate of you," Blake grumbled.

"I'm sure the kid would agree," Lawson was persistent.

"If he gets worse, I don't care about either of our careers. I will be calling an ambulance." Blake wasn't about to step back either and Lawson nodded.

"Of course. So... how long do we have to wait?"

Blake shrugged, already thinking of how to make this experience less harrowing on all of them.

"Bring me a glass of water, please," he asked and started going through his medical bag. When Lawson returned with the glass grumbling, Blake was already back kneeling next to Charlie and trying to coax two black pills into his mouth.

"Come on Charlie, drink up," Blake put the glass to Charlie's lips and somehow managed to make him drink almost half of it without chocking or trying to knock Blake off his feet. Charlie didn't even grimace at the pills, though he did try to once again trace Blake's face with his bandaged hand.

"Not melting," he muttered then looked away as he caught sight of a fly buzzing past.

"What did you give him?" Lawson asked when Blake stepped back out into the hall.

"Activated charcoal. Might help absorb some of the drug if it was ingested."

"Anything else we can do?"

"I'll try to stitch up that hand in a bit. Otherwise... no. We can monitor him, keep him somehow comfortable and wait for the drug to run its course."

Lawson sighed.

"So in short, this will be a rather long night."

"Indeed," Lucien agreed.

"I'll put the kettle on for coffee, then try and clean up the mess. I wasn't a fan of that vase myself, but I could do without all the blood on the floor," Lawson muttered as he left Blake behind to try and tend to their wayward constable. This Friday was panning out to be anything but calm and relaxing and Lawson swore to himself that he would get revenge on whomever orchestrated this. No one would mess with his people or his free time. No one.

* * *

Charlie wanted it to stop. He felt like he was stuck in this dream forever, like there was no way out and it was driving him to madness. Nothing made sense. The walls were closing in and he was expecting them to fall in on him any second, but they just loomed over threateningly. From time to time the man known as Lucien Blake stepped into his prison. Charlie craved those moments. Charlie hated those moments.

He knew Lucien Blake was real. He touched his face and it didn't melt. He saw the compassionate look in the man's face, heard his soothing grumble as he tried to stop the red from pouring out of Charlie's hand. Charlie wanted to stop him, he liked the red, liked how he could draw with it on the floor. It had depth and felt like life. But then Blake pulled out a shiny needle and Charlie stopped trying to pull away. He just watched, utterly fascinated as the needle pierced his skin, pulling the gaping wound closed, millimetre by millimetre. It didn't hurt. Not at all and Charlie couldn't stop but feel mesmerized by the sight. Blake had magic hands. The man was putting him back together, leaving a trace of stitches on angry skin while keeping the red liquid that was life inside Charlie.

"Here you go," Blake said and Charlie hummed turning his hand this way and that, inspecting the white bandage as if it was a freshly fallen snow.

Everything had a sense of depth, of meaning. Charlie felt at the same time like the middle of the universe as well as just a speckle of dust. All those countering emotions were driving him crazy. And it seemed to last forever. Time had lost meaning and it took years for Charlie to start breaking through the haze.

It started with the sounds. When Blake came in and talked to him, his words were making sense. Charlie still couldn't find it in him to actually think about an answer, but at least he understood. It wasn't just a jumble of nonsensical sounds.

The visual aspect came next. Somewhere along the way the melting faces vanished. Charlie's arms became normal length and even though the room was still tilting occasionally when he moved his head too fast, it was nothing on the feeling of being the only set point in place as the world revolved around.

What was the most telling though that things were getting back to normal, that maybe he might break free from this prison of time, was the pain. At first it was just an uncomfortable pressure on his right wrist. It took Charlie some time to look at his arm and connect the bruised looking skin with the image of the handcuffs. It took even longer for him to try and move his arm in such a way that would lessen the pressure which was quickly turning into uncomfortable chafing.

His other hand, the one with the bandage was waking up as well. Charlie cringed as he closed it into a fist experimentally and felt a stitch pull painfully on his skin. There were small splotches of fresh red on the bandage and this time Charlie looked away. Somehow the red didn't seem so fascinating anymore.

When Lucien Blake walked into the bathroom the next time to check on him, Charlie looked up dazedly and spoke.

"I'm tired," he said, even though what he really wanted was to scream at the doc to get him out of the blasted handcuffs and bring him a bottle so he could drink himself to stupor. Anything to forget the last few... decades.

"Charlie?" Blake paused, looking searchingly into his eyes.

Charlie cleared his throat and nodded.

"Can... can you let me go?" he asked, glancing at his handcuffed arm. "It's starting to hurt."

"Yes, of course. Matthew?" Blake bellowed and Charlie cringed. The voice sounded too loud, too sharp.

"What?" Lawson appeared in the doorway, looking like he was pulled out of sleep. Charlie wished the floor would swallow him right then and there.

"I need the key to the handcuffs," Blake said, looking at Lawson as if he expected to pull the keys out of his robe. Lawson glared and looked at Charlie. Charlie turned his gaze away.

"Is he back to normal?"

Blake sighed impatiently.

"The key, Matthew."

It took some more grumbling, but Lawson produced the key and watched warily as Blake freed Charlie's hand.

Charlie hissed, feeling pins and needles. His legs also seemed to have fallen asleep and it was only with Blake's help that he managed to get up.

"I swear, if you try anything stupid Davis, I'll hogtie you and leave you in the bathroom for the whole weekend," Lawson warned gruffly.

"Matthew!" Blake admonished even as he was supporting Charlie's weight and helping him towards the couch in the living room. "Don't listen to him, he's just worried."

"Yes, for the safety of everyone concerned," Lawson added. Charlie didn't say anything. He couldn't really. Things still looked strange as he was moving around the room, and it was as if his body was awakening into reality much faster than his mind.

"I'm sorry," he managed to mutter as Blake eased him down on the couch. Charlie lie down without prodding. He wished this night would be over. He wished this night had never happened.

"That's it, try to get some sleep," Blake patted his leg encouragingly as Charlie closed his eyes. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

Charlie wished that was true.

He felt a nudge and there was a soft pillow under his head, then a fuzzy blanket was thrown over his form. He heard whispered voices and a chair creaking as someone settled down. Charlie didn't open his eyes to look who it was. But he felt better knowing he wasn't left alone with his demons.

* * *

The rest of the night passed much quicker for everyone concerned, even though Charlie startled awake a few times from a nightmare. Each time he looked around the unknown room and was on the verge of panic when he spotted the familiar form of the doctor sleeping soundly on a nearby armchair.

Charlie's breathing and heart calmed down almost instantly. He knew things weren't right, but he didn't allow himself to start thinking about it. He just closed his eyes and slipped back into sleep.

Until morning came and this time when he woke it wasn't to escape the bad dreams but to the smell of coffee and hushed voices talking in the next room.

Charlie rubbed at his eyes, then stared confusedly at his bandaged left hand. His right wrist didn't look any better, chaffed and bruised and Charlie vividly remembered how he was trying to escape, how his arm felt like trapped in an unrelenting jaw of a snake.

"Oh God," Charlie uttered, the events of the last day coming back to him one by one. The phantasmagorical images, that strange feeling of comprehension, the raw fear of being trapped in his own mind for ever.

"Ah, good morning, Charlie," Blake greeted him with a smile, looking fresh and dapper as ever, sipping on his coffee. Behind him Matthew Lawson, dressed in proper clothes instead of pyjamas and a robe.

Charlie didn't know what to say.

He sat up and covered his face with both his hands.

"Oh God," he repeated, sure that this was it. He messed up and he would lose his job. He would have to return to Melbourne penniless and tell his mother what a failure he was. And who would even offer him another job? What about his brothers?

Charlie didn't even realize it but all these thoughts were making him breathe faster and his stomach felt like someone just squeezed it in a tight fist. What the hell happened to him? Was he having a mental breakdown? Was he turning crazy?

"Hey, hey. Just calm down," Blake was sitting next to him on the couch and Charlie didn't even notice when the man moved. Time still wasn't working as it should and that just made Charlie panic even more.

"Doc? What... what's wrong with me?" he asked, looking up gasping.

"You just need to calm down and breathe, that's all. You're fine, Charlie."

Charlie shook his head. How could he be fine after what happened?

"For heaven's sake Davis, listen to Blake!" Lawson barked and Blake shot him a glare.

Surprisingly, it helped. Lawson's commanding tone spurred Charlie's sub consciousness into action. He had it drilled into him to listen to such tone at the police academy and now that his mind was still trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't, his body took automatically over.

Charlie followed Blake's calm instructions and kept his eyes on the man. He would look anywhere but straight into Lawson's face. He was just too embarrassed and ashamed.

"You back with us now, Davis?" Lawson asked after few minutes. Blake was just checking his pulse and the bandage on his hand, but didn't speak up. It was time that Charlie faced the music.

"Y-yes, Boss," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. I don't know... what happened. Everything is..." Charlie shook his head, taking several deep breaths, trying to stave off the nausea as he remembered breaking the vase... and the shard connecting with something...

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his head snapping up, wide eyed.

"No, luckily your balance was shot to hell. I'll still dock the price of that vase off your pay check though," Lawson said tersely.

"Come on, Matthew. Isn't that the one you wanted to get rid of anyway?" Blake tried to ease the tension, but it didn't work. Charlie couldn't care less about the vase. He attacked his superior officer... in his own house.

"No, this one was from my mother, thank you very much," Lawson said, crossing his arms.

"Am I... am I fired?" Charlie asked while the two men were giving each other annoyed looks.

"What was that?" Lawson asked with a frown and Charlie had to clear his throat and repeat the question once more, because his voice seemed to fail the first time.

"Am I fired?" he said and this time Blake didn't say a word, he just looked at Lawson. And Lawson looked at Charlie.

"That depends."

Charlie blinked. That wasn't what he expected. Either a yes or no would have made more sense.

"On what?" he asked, dumbfounded but with a slither of hope. Blake shared some secret look with Lawson, but Charlie didn't care of trying to decode it.

"You have two options, Davis," Lawson said simply, waiting for Charlie's reaction.

"Anything, Boss," Charlie said, looking Lawson in the eyes eagerly. He knew he would never be able to get himself rid of the shame... to get the images out of his head. But if he could keep his job so at least his family wouldn't suffer...

"I want names."

Charlie blinked.

"What?" He didn't understand.

"Did you take the drug willingly?" Lawson pushed and Charlie felt like he was back in one of the dreams, like he was still trapped somehow.

"What drug, Boss? I don't... I didn't take _anything_."

Lawson looked at him dubiously.

"You want to tell me this was just some psychotic break, Davis?"

"Matthew!" Blake warned, putting an arm on Charlie's shoulder, bringing his attention to himself for the moment. Charlie looked at the doctor in confusion.

"I didn't take anything doc, I swear! All I had were two beers. We played cards and then everything started feeling strange and I don't even remember coming here. Please, you must believe me! I would never touch that stuff!"

"Calm down, Charlie. I do believe you," Blake reassured him. "But Matthew is right. All your symptoms point towards drugging. And the fact you were delivered right in front of Matthew's door shows that it was a deliberate act."

Charlie blinked. Could that be true? Did... did the guys from the station set him up? Would they be so cruel? Or was he just under so much stress that he truly had a psychotic breakdown?

"I don't know, Doc. Why... why would they do this?"

But Blake couldn't answer and Lawson was losing patience.

"The names, Davis. Who were you with last night?"

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. He should tell the truth, but... he wasn't a rat. Maybe it was an accident... maybe he went crazy... maybe this was still just part of the dream...

Lawson seemed to notice his hesitation.

"I'm not playing around, Davis. You either give me the names of the people you were with, or you can go and pack your desk right now."

"Boss?" Charlie's voice sounded plaintive and Lucien was now glaring at Lawson. But Lawson was also pissed. He leaned down over Charlie, so close Charlie could smell the coffee in his breath.

"Listen to me closely, _Charlie_. I know you don't want to be a _snitch_... but whomever you're trying to protect, isn't worth it. You know why?"

Charlie could only shake his head imperceptibly.

"Because last night they drove your drugged up ass here, knocked on my door and left. Because last night you broke a vase that was a gift from my mother, grabbed a shard and tried to cut off my face. Because you cut your own damn hand and didn't even flinch and I had to spend half an hour trying to clean up your blood from the floor. Is that enough reason to spill those names?" By the end of it, Lawson was almost shouting and Charlie had backed into the couch, eyes wide and breathing hard. Blake had one hand on Charlie and one hand raised to ward off Lawson.

"Matthew! That's quite enough," he warned with a hiss and Lawson backed off a bit, but not much. He ran a hand over his face.

"If my and your own safety isn't a concern to you, Davis, tell me. What would have happened if those idiots left you somewhere out on the street? With your gun? Can you even imagine how many people you could've hurt?"

Charlie could. And it wasn't a pretty image. He felt whatever he drank last night was going to do a reappearance and he looked around wildly. Blake seemed to understand his predication because he nodded towards the hall.

"First door on the left," he said and Charlie stumbled up, then rushed into the vaguely familiar bathroom.

It took him several minutes to calm down his raging stomach, and several splashes of cold water on the face to chase away the horrid images his mind was trying to conjure. He made the mistake of looking towards the wall with the heating pipes and noticed the pair of handcuffs lying on the floor.

Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, coming to a decision.

He softly walked out of the bathroom, but paused before entering the living room.

"Was that really necessary, Matthew?" Blake said seemingly berating his old friend. Charlie peeked in and from the angle saw Lawson shrug and take a sip of a stiff drink.

"You weren't there when the kid almost killed both of us. It wasn't pretty and whoever caused that... needs to be punished."

Blake nodded.

"I agree with that. But right now the only one who's getting punished is the victim. Tone it down. The drug still isn't out of his system."

Charlie gulped, leaning against the wall. He didn't know whether he should be thankful to both men for their concern, or angry about being talked about in such way. But in the end he felt like he had ran out of emotions for the day. He took a minute more, then entered the room, making sure to make some noise beforehand.

He walked back to the couch in silence and sat down. Then he told Lawson the names he wanted to hear.

Lawson gritted his teeth, then nodded. Charlie didn't know what the man was thinking. His face showed traces of disappointment and anger, but Charlie wasn't sure whether it was aimed at him or those guys. He didn't dare to ask.

"I... I was supposed to be at work today..." Charlie said instead, unsure of whether he should just head out and go to work like nothing happened or if there was some punishment awaiting him. At this moment he wasn't even sure he could go back to work. Both his hands hurt... his stomach was wonky and his head, well... Charlie wasn't sure his mind was all there yet.

Lawson seemingly expected that.

"I already called Hobart. As of now, you're on sick leave."

Charlie looked up.

"I... I'm not sick," he said, voice choked up.

"You probably missed that mirror in the bathroom, hm?" Lawson said deadpan and Charlie blinked, because was that supposed to be a joke?

"You are left-handed, right?"

Charlie nodded and looked down at his bandaged left hand.

"Oh," he uttered, trying to flex his hand but ending up wincing instead. "For how... how long?"

"I don't want to see your ass anywhere near the police station for the next three days. After that it's up to Blake."

Charlie was confused.

"What? Why?"

"He'll have to sign off that you're ready for work."

Lawson and Blake exchanged a look and Lucien nodded.

"It'll take a few days for that hand to mend," Lucien explained, although the look on his face implied that the hand wasn't his only concern.

"Three days?" Charlie repeated. "Am I suspended?"

Lawson rolled his eyes.

"You're on sick leave, that's all."

"What about... this?" Charlie waved his arm in the air, as if to encompass the whole house. "What I did?"

Lawson shrugged.

"We won't speak of it again."

"I'm not being punished?" Charlie asked again, unable to believe his luck.

"For goodness sake Blake, how long will those effects last?" Lawson asked, clearly annoyed at having to explain himself so much and Charlie blushed. Blake sighed.

"I don't know. It would be actually helpful to know what drug was used."

"Well... I'll do what I can," Lawson said, lost in thought. Then he turned to Charlie, letting some warmth through his voice.

"I know this wasn't your fault, Davis. Nothing that happened here last night will leave this house. For future reference though... be careful who you're hanging out with. Not everyone has your best interest in mind. Or ours," Lawson added, looking pointedly at Blake and Charlie got the message. He nodded.

"Y-yeah, Boss. I... I'm sorry."

Matthew nodded and looked at the clock.

"Well, gentlemen... it seems that I have some business to attend to. Do as you will... as long as you stay out of the station, Davis."

Charlie nodded and stood, though unsure what he should do next, where he should go. He felt lost... utterly lost and alone. Figuratively and literally too... he didn't have a clue where he even was. He didn't know where his boss lived.

Blake seemed to catch on however.

"Charlie, why don't I give you a ride? Or better yet... why don't you come to my house for a proper breakfast?" Blake offered gratuitously and Charlie didn't know what to say.

"Thanks, Doc. I... I do need a ride, but... I... I don't think Mattie would..."

Lucien waved his hand.

"Mattie will be at work all day." Charlie opened his mouth, still unsure. "Come on, Charlie. I think you shouldn't be alone right now anyway."

That was something Charlie couldn't really argue about. He wasn't sure what would happen if he was left to his own devices at this moment. Left alone with his own thoughts and traitorous mind. Just the thought of it scared him. Things were still looking weird. Sounds weren't exactly right and he could tell that his skin felt strange on his body... not right. The only stable point in this moment was Lawson and the Doc. Seeing as Lawson practically kicked them out of his house... Charlie reluctantly agreed.

"Breakfast sounds nice," he said sheepishly.

"That's my boy," Blake said with a smile as he clapped him on the back. Charlie said goodbye to Lawson who was already ignoring them in lieu of picking up the right hat to wear to town. It seemed that the Boss was on a mission and Charlie didn't even want to think about what that entailed. He didn't want to think about anything.

* * *

Charlie sat down in the Doctor's car stiffly, trying not to look at Blake. He didn't want to see pity or worse, disgust in his face. He didn't know why... Charlie knew Blake only for a few weeks and seeing as he was sent there to literally keep an eye on the man and his hijinks, he shouldn't have felt so much respect for the man. But the fact was he did respect Blake and he was hoping it was at least partly mutual.

So he stared out the window as the doc started the car, refusing to look the man in the eyes. He didn't have a clue how he would face Lawson come Tuesday, but that was another can of worms altogether. He shuddered at the mere thought of what his supervisor's current opinion on him was.

"You doing okay there, Charlie?" Blake asked and Charlie startled. He was getting lost inside his mind, tuning out everything else and it wasn't a feeling he wanted right now. Blinking, Charlie averted his gaze from the window and gave a slight nod to Blake.

"Yeah. Just... thinking," he said, his tone clearly stating that he would rather not keep doing it.

"Ah yes, I imagine there's a lot to think about. But maybe... leave the heavy thinking for later? Like Matthew said... it wasn't your fault."

Charlie shrugged, feeling some of the anger breaking through the haze of emptiness. Anger at himself, anger at Dave and the others.

"I should've known they were planning something," Charlie muttered, clenching his hands in a nervous reaction. The stitches in his left hand tugged at the wound and he hissed. He totally forgot about the hand. Looking down, Charlie now inspected the bandaged appendage... his eyes pausing at the spots of blood. He frowned. Blood seemed so fascinating last night... so powerful. There was so much of it... he felt like he could swim in the red...

God, he must've made a right mess of Lawson's floor, though when they were leaving it was all cleaned up. Charlie was grateful for that. But now his eyes slipped from the hand and noted the patches of red on his pants and on his shirt and Charlie took a proper look at himself with growing uneasiness. His clothes were a mess... his _uniform_ was a mess.

"I can't go like this," Charlie muttered and Blake looked at him. Charlie wondered how the Doc or even Lawson didn't comment on his attire up until now. "I look like I stabbed someone."

Blake chuckled.

"Well, you did try," he said, then grimaced at his own bluntness as Charlie felt his face flush with guilt. "I didn't mean it like that, Charlie," Blake said with a sigh, then slowed down the car. "But you're right. If I bring you for breakfast like this, Jean will think we spent the night trying to bury a body. I doubt either of us would enjoy the following questioning."

Charlie believed that. He met Miss Beazley only a handful of times and she striked him as a woman who didn't mess around. She was Blake's housekeeper after all. If she could handle Blake on a daily basis she might've been more dangerous than the dear doctor himself.

"Why don't we stop at your place? You can change into something more appropriate," Blake offered and Charlie just nodded. After a moment of silence when he felt Blake's expecting eyes on him, Charlie looked up and realized what was the problem. The doctor didn't know where he lived. Of course. Feeling like an idiot, Charlie gave Blake his address and wondered if it wouldn't just be better for all concerned if he decided to stay home after all, at least until his brain was back in working order.

But even as Charlie tried to suggest just that, Blake spoke.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Charlie looked at Blake and their eyes met. Charlie was expecting judgment or disappointment but instead all he saw was curiosity. Of course the doc was curious. The man was a scientist who loved to solve mysteries. And right now that mystery was Charlie.

"I understand if you don't want to talk about it right now," Blake seemed to take his silence as offense. "I'm just curious... for medical reasons. I've seen a few incidents similar as to what you went through... and everyone was recounting a slightly different experience."

Charlie frowned.

"So you know what they drugged me with? Was it the same stuff?"

"Oh, no. All I can say is that it was some psychotropic drug. Though knowing more about what you experienced might shed some light into it. But I'm not pressuring you."

Charlie sighed, rubbed at his eyes. He supposed giving an answer was the least he could do. At least someone should get something out of this whole mess. But there were just too many things he didn't want to think about. They rode in silence for almost five minutes when Charlie finally spoke.

"At one point it felt like everything... made sense," Charlie said, still wondering how to deal with that.

"Everything?" Blake asked, parking the car in front of Charlie's apartment.

"The universe... life and death. Everything," Charlie waved his hand, then shrugged. "But that didn't last. Things just kept changing. Time was... off. I don't know how long I was in that bathroom..."

"About four hours," Blake said and Charlie blinked.

"Felt like years, Doc. It felt like eternity... and then I had that absurd feeling, you know? Like... not even death could stop this? Like there was no escape."

Blake cringed and reached out, squeezing Charlie's shoulder.

"Must've been scary."

Charlie shrugged, feeling some warmth return to his body at the simple gesture of support.

"I couldn't really feel anything at that moment," he replied honestly. "Not even when you were stitching up my hand."

Blake nodded.

"Dissociation. That's one of the effects of several anaesthetics we use in medicine."

Charlie sighed.

"I still feel a bit... not there," he admitted and Blake gave him a pat on the shoulder, then reached for the door.

"That's why we will spend some time together today," he said with a smirk. "Now come on, Charlie, let's get you presentable. I'm dying for Jean's breakfast."

And that's what they did. Charlie numbly went through the motions, changed his clothes and couldn't muster up enough of a protest to stay at home that the doctor didn't thoroughly ignore. So off they went, back to Blake's humble abode. Miss Beazley welcomed them with a questioning look, while berating Blake he didn't warn her of a visitor. Charlie apologized profusely, only to be waved off, pushed onto a kitchen chair and offered a hefty dose of eggs and ham. Blake had to wait for another serving, but he accepted it with a cheeky smile.

Charlie was aware there was a several minute long conversation between Miss Beazley and Blake in the living room after breakfast while he excused himself to the bathroom, but he didn't dare to eavesdrop. And the result of it was that when he came back Jean was pushing a list of groceries into Blake's hand.

"Well, looks like we're going shopping, Charlie," Blake said with flourish and off they went.

Despite Charlie's mind still running in slow motion, always a millisecond behind reality, the day passed quickly. Blake made sure Charlie didn't try to sneak off and that he was always occupied with something. Even if it was just helping with a crossword puzzle. Seeing as Charlie was left-handed and couldn't really be of much use, it was surprising how many activities the Doctor had came up with for him. By the time evening came, Charlie was bone tired. They were in Blake's office, Charlie sitting on the couch with a book and Blake working on some papers. Mattie was helping Miss Beazley with the dinner. Charlie felt weird being in the house at dinner time and unable to even lend a helping hand, but he really didn't feel like dealing with Mattie right now. The girl was way too perceptive and smart mouthed and it was barely a week from when he arrested her. Still, when there was a call from Miss Beazley requesting a bit of help in the kitchen, Charlie put away the book and rose from the couch. Only to be pushed back down by Blake, who was already heading out of the room.

"I can help," Charlie said in protest.

"I'm pretty sure the ladies require someone with two working hands," Blake said with a smile. "Looks like you still have some time to finish reading that chapter." With that he was gone and Charlie sagged back down on the couch with a sigh. This whole day was just weird. Blake practically didn't let him out of his sight and Charlie was grateful for that. Blake's constant company was the only thing that kept him from slipping into that unreal state of mind. But he was sure even the man grew bored of him by now and he was already imposing enough. It was time to go home.

Right after dinner he would call a cab. Decision made, Charlie felt his shoulders relax a bit. He didn't even realize how tense he had become in the last hour or two. Or maybe it wasn't tension, maybe it was weariness. Charlie yawned and rubbed at his eyes. The book in his hand seemed to weigh a ton and he had to put it down. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a bit. The doc said dinner won't be ready for a while yet, didn't he?

Just a short nap, then he would excuse himself and go home.

* * *

That short nap lasted through most of the night. Charlie woke up just as the first rays of sunshine peered in through the window. At first he was confused by the room he was in, or why was he on the couch. Two days in a row now he woke up in strange places and both times there was a pillow under his head and a blanket covering him. While his back and joints didn't seem appreciative of the fact, Charlie couldn't complain.

With a groan he got off the couch, stretching and realized he was feeling better. Physically things still hurt, maybe even more after not sleeping in a proper bed for a while, but mentally... he felt his mind had cleared considerably. He also realized that he fell asleep on Blake's couch and the man didn't wake him up to kick him out. Charlie was grateful for that. The last day was good for him. He wasn't sure what he would've done if left to his own devices and having Blake there took away that decision. But now he needed quiet and a chance to think. And maybe take a walk back to the town and his own apartment.

The house was still too quiet, everyone fast asleep. Charlie was glad for that. He found a piece of paper and scribbled down his thanks to the doctor as well as Miss Beazley. He also apologized for vanishing so early in the morning and promised to call later on.

Charlie slipped out of the house quietly as a ghost and walked down a path towards the town, the crisp morning air refreshing on his face.

He spent the day brooding inside his apartment, wondering just what was awaiting him at work. Wondering if he should maybe go after Dave and clear this up.

His hands clenched into fists and it was only the pain from the cut that reminded Charlie that it might be a bad idea. While he felt the anger inside him simmer and grow as he kept going over the memories and worse, over the possible scenarios, the pain reminded Charlie of all the effort Blake put into helping him. About Lawson's command to stay out of things... and how the last thing Charlie wanted right now was to give Lawson any more cause to let him go.

So he sucked it up. Drank tea instead of the beer or liquor he felt might dampen the anger. Charlie wasn't sure he would be able to drink beer anytime soon. Just the thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. He sat down instead and wondered just what story did Blake came up with to explain Mattie and Miss Beazley his yesterday visit.

Another night passed, this time with Charlie falling asleep in his bed. He would've been happy about it if the nightmares hadn't woken him out of sleep twice during one night.

* * *

It was with a grumpy look that he opened the door the next morning, to the face of Matthew Lawson and Lucien Blake. Charlie froze, for a second sure that Lawson was there to tell him he was finished, that he can pack his things and return to Melbourne.

"Can we come in?" Lawson asked gruffly and Charlie just nodded stupidly, making way. Blake gave him a smile and Charlie felt some of the fear slip away. If they'd been bearing bad news, Blake's face would've shown that.

"Uh... can I get you something, Boss? Doc?"

"Thank you Charlie, but we will be on our way shortly," Blake said and Lawson just shook his head, looking around the small apartment. Charlie blushed, acutely aware that there were some dishes on the small table, and only few chairs to sit on. No couch would fit into such small space or it would have to come at the cost of a proper bed.

"Sorry for the mess," Charlie muttered, grabbing the plates and putting them in the sink quickly, then pointing at the chairs. "Please, sit."

They all did and Charlie thought the ensuing silence was his true punishment. That was how Lawson planned to get rid of him, just drive him mad. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"So... uh... what are you doing here?" he blurted out, then blushed. 'Great way to welcome your boss after almost killing him in his own house,' Charlie thought to himself. "I mean-"

Lawson snorted but seemed to take pity on him.

"I was thinking you'd like to know what caused the whole mess. But if you'd rather just forget it, we can go," Lawson said almost nonchalantly. Blake rolled his eyes at the theatrics and Charlie scrambled for the right words.

"No, boss, please. I want to know."

Lawson nodded.

"I had the pleasure to talk to junior constable Dave Larson. After some...persuasion, he admitted that he and his friend Steven put something into your drink during that poker game."

"Why? Why would they do that?" Charlie blurted out, his anger returning. "I barely even know them."

Lawson shrugged.

"Larson was trying to play it off as a prank. An 'initiation' so to speak. According to his words, they just wanted to get you to stop being so damn 'perfect' and by the book all the time."

"And they thought leaving me in front of your doors would cure me of that?" Charlie sputtered, now wishing he wouldn't have listened to Lawson and went after Dave right away. He would show the man what 'by the book' meant for the son of Ray Davis, the boxer.

Lawson must've noted the anger coursing through him, because his eyes went terse.

"Now, don't think about doing anything stupid, Davis," he warned and Charlie grunted. He might not go after Dave right away, but he would make sure to make his life at the precinct that much harder. Show the punk what a bit of bureaucracy could do if used smart. Right now he had other questions though.

"What did they even give me?"

Lawson gestured to Blake to take over and leaned back on the chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"Phencyclidine," Blake spoke and Charlie blinked. He had never heard of the thing. "Or PCP. It was first used as surgical anaesthetic... hence why you didn't feel a thing when I stitched up your hand. But after some rather... unwelcome side effects, as you can tell yourself, it is now being used mostly in veterinary medicine as animal tranquilizer."

"Animal tranquilizer..." Charlie repeated in disbelief. "What?"

"Dave's uncle is a veterinarian and it seems that he uses it to knock out his patients. Dave thought it would work just as well on people."

"So what... he thought I would just fall asleep on your doorstep, Boss?"

Lawson gave another shrug.

"Seems so."

"God!" Charlie ran a hand over his hair, trying to calm down. Everything that happened just so Dave could get a kick off getting Charlie in trouble with his boss. What if he had done something much worse?

"Is that it? I could've... I could've killed someone!"

"You didn't," Blake said in a calming tone. Charlie shook his head.

"I almost did. That stuff shouldn't be legal. It's... it messes people up."

"It's not exactly legal, Davis. We made sure to give Larson's uncle a call and let him know what his nephew did. I assure you, he won't get anywhere near the med supplies anymore."

"Oh great, I won't have to worry about getting hopped up on some horse tranquilizer again. What a relief."

"Watch it, constable," Lawson warned with a frown and Charlie realized who he was speaking to.

"Sorry boss," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm just..."

"Angry. That's understandable. And I will deal with Larson and the other two accordingly. But I don't want you to get involved, understood?"

Charlie didn't say a word.

"Is that _understood, _senior constable Davis?" Lawson repeated more forcefully.

"Yes, sir," Charlie said through gritted teeth. Maybe he won't look for open confrontation, but he won't let this slide.

"Is he at least getting suspended?" Charlie asked, looking up with some hope. Lawson sighed.

"That's none of your concern."

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but saw the look of warning on Lawson's face. He decided to stay silent and gave a simple nod, jaw clenched tight.

"Good. Now that it's cleared up... I'll leave you in the capable hands of doctor Blake. I'm expecting you tomorrow at the station, seven sharp."

"Yes, boss," Charlie said and escorted Lawson to the door, wondering why Blake was staying behind.

"Doc?" he asked once they were alone.

"I'll just take a look at that hand and be on my way, Charlie," Blake said with a smile and gestured for Charlie to sit down. While he unwrapped the bandage and checked the stitches, Charlie was taking up the courage to ask questions.

"So... that drug. Does... does it have any other side effects?"

Blake looked up, concern apparent in his eyes.

"Are you experiencing some problems, Charlie?"

"No, I'm fine," Charlie hastily reassured the doctor. "I was just... should I be worried about addiction? Or some... episodes?" Charlie was still having nightmares and he was wondering if they were just his mind's way of coping or if there was something else at play.

"I don't think so, Charlie. Do you have any strange cravings? Are you feeling like you need more of the drug?"

"No, nothing like that." If Charlie knew one thing it was that he never wanted a repeat of the experience. "Just... bad dreams, that all."

"That's understandable," Blake said and it looked like he was relieved. "If you aren't craving the 'rush' of the drug I think you're safe from addiction, Charlie."

Charlie couldn't help the relieved sigh. Last thing he needed was a drug problem. He had enough to deal with as it was. For starters, try and rebuild some semblance of trust between him and Lawson. Because Charlie was sure at this point the man wouldn't trust him with borrowing a pen, never-mind his life.

"I think you're over thinking it, Charlie," Blake said with a friendly smile and wrapped Charlie's hand in a lighter bandage. "Matthew is quite aware who was at fault here."

Charlie wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't voice his thoughts. Instead he looked at his left hand then at Blake.

"Thanks for the help, Doc," he said, hoping Blake would understand it wasn't just for the check-up. "I really appreciate what you have done. And sorry for bailing on you last morning."

"Ah, yes, Jean did miss you at the breakfast," Blake said with a smile and Charlie returned it.

"But I bet Mattie was happy to see me gone."

Blake rolled his eyes.

"She will come around," he assured Charlie then stood up. "Alright then, I have to see a few more patients. You're free to go to work tomorrow, as long as you won't be using that hand to shoot someone. Or beat them up," Blake added with a smirk and Charlie chuckled.

"Don't worry, I think Boss would have my head on silver platter if I tried."

"He'll grow on you," Blake said and left.

"We will see," Charlie muttered as he closed the door and went about his day.

* * *

Finally it was Tuesday and Charlie walked into the station, his stomach jittery. Lawson just gave him a curt nod of welcome and Hobart dumped a stack of files on his desk.

"Enjoy the grunt work," he said with a smirk. Charlie would've taken it personally but he knew Hobart could be an ass and this was his usual behaviour. So Charlie went on with his day mostly as usual. Typing was still a chore and he had to explain away his bandaged hand as a result of clumsy attempt at cooking to several curious colleagues, but otherwise it looked like everything was normal. No one called him crazy, no one was making fun of him.

He also managed to catch sight of both Steven and George. Their uniforms looked dusty and dirty and they didn't even look Charlie's way. He was curious so followed them down the hall until he saw them vanishing inside the old archive. Ah, so that explained the dust. The archive had needed rearranging for a while now and Charlie knew it was the number one punishment chore Lawson gave to coppers who displeased him.

Charlie felt just a bit better then. Though try as he might, he didn't see Dave anywhere. And he did try to find the guy, going as far as asking some of the others. But everyone just shrugged and went on with their work. Charlie didn't see another way. He couldn't go to Lawson, because the man already told him to drop the issue. So during lunch break he followed Hobart out while the man was taking a smoke and asked about Dave.

Hobart gave Charlie an assessing look, as if trying to figure out what he could have to do with someone like Dave. Charlie didn't flinch away from his stare, so Hobart shrugged.

"He was transferred to some shitty hole in the middle of nowhere. Packed up his things and left town last night."

Charlie blinked.

"What?"

"I don't know. Word is he fucked up and had to leave. If he owed you money, too bad. I doubt you'll see a dime off him."

Charlie left Hobart to his cigarette and a weird smirk on his face. He walked back to his desk and sat down heavily.

Lawson kicked Dave out of Ballarat. That... that was more than anyone else ever did for Charlie. He couldn't believe that grumpy guy who had a permanent frown etched on his face would actually have Charlie's back. The man he was supposed to report on... along with the doctor.

Charlie swallowed and turned to his typewriter. His break was over, but he couldn't seem to focus on a word he was typing. Until Lawson walked back into the office, accompanied by Lucien Blake. Charlie looked up and was startled when Blake greeted him with a smile and a wink. He knew. Of course the man knew.

Hobart behind his own desk rolled his eyes when Blake settled down and started twisting his newest theory about some cold case. The phone rang and shortly after Lawson started barking orders about a new case. Everything seemed so familiar... so normal. As Blake stood up, offering his services, Charlie realized he didn't want things to change after all. He realized that perhaps this was the place and the people where his loyalties should lie.

**THE END**


End file.
